Homecoming
by Nyte Quill
Summary: COMPLETE. Sasha Torres doesn't have a home. She has a house, a place to exist, but not a home... not yet. My thoughts after the season 2 opener. Part 2 Michelle's POV. Part 3 Channing Tatum. Part 4 Meyer Lansky. Final chapter (I think) is up. Enjoy!
1. No Place to Belong

Sasha Torres was a "package". She'd been shipped and promptly delivered and passed back and forth between excited recipients and kept under wraps and stored every place but home. Sasha Torres was a package, a vessel of constantly raw nerves and splintery emotions and high expectations and dark secrets, bundled in a highly reflective wrapping of sarcasm and perfect dancing.

Her ruse had been going alright until today. Today had been spent listening to her friends advising her to go home, dropping the "Package" at the inopportune instant when she truly had nowhere else to go. It was ironic that to return to her residence would not be going home, nor would she feel any less alone if there. She felt more comfortable (in a disinfectant-scented hobbit hole sort of way) in Boo's broom closet than she did in the palatial house she lived in. Snug, warm and Gain-scented beat out roomy, cold mausoleum any day. Any other day, it probably would again, but she needed a place tonight. Walking in the dark, the little home invader searched for a place to store herself, her warp-speed thoughts putting her body on autopilot until she felt the familiar crunch of the gravel outside the dance studio beneath her boots. She shoved her hands in her hoodie's pouch and drew a very deep breath; she always fit here. Better than almost anywhere else if she needed a place to belong. Dashing off a quick text, she hunted for the hide-a-key and let herself into the guesthouse.

She'd told Roman where she was for 2 reasons: loneliness and curiosity. All those "typical" hormonal responses she'd read about or glimpsed on television between pirouettes were actually beginning to percolate whenever she was around the teen with the carefully studied nonchalance and affected air of disinterest. The scientific side of her told her repeated interactions would provide data to support or reject a hypothesis; the miserable scared little girl she kept duct-taped in a trunk in the back of her mind merely wanted to not feel alone. She loved her friends more than anyone (including them) truly knew, and being deprived of even occasional affection was making her reach out to someone new.

A few moments of Banter preceded the Slow Approach (that's how these things always went, right) and soon they stood in a Tentative Embrace waiting to kiss. She was aware of the key jangling in the side door, and had enough time to process the thought that Madame Fanny had found her in the guesthouse (and of _**course**_ she'd left the curtains wide open), when she turned to see Michelle Flowers-Simms in the doorway.

For just a minute, time held still, shimmering like a dew-dotted cobweb. Then Sasha was vaulting across the floor and throwing her arms around Michelle. There was a moment of resistance, of uncertainty on the older dancer's part, before she folded the girl into a responding hug. They stood wrapped in each other's arms, letting warmth and affection wend around them like a time-softened quilt. A vague recognition of retreating footfalls and the _shoosh_ of the sliding door alerted her to Roman's departure, but Sasha couldn't find any spare emotion to care with. All it took was a "hey, kid" and it was confirmed: Michelle, their fabulous Vegas-flash Nutcracker Macer, was back.

All day long, her friends had suggested she simply "go home". Not until the former showgirl walked into her life and ended up in her arms did Sasha realize she'd done exactly that.

**Author's Note: after the season opener, this idea sat on the edge of my consciousness and said "write me!" until I did. Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are appreciated, even if you didn't.**


	2. Long Road Home

Michelle Flowers-Simms was not home. She was kind of back to living in the place she'd _called _home for the better part of a decade, but now after her expulsion from Paradise, it didn't feel the same. Ironically, the events that had prompted her departure played a role in her return. She knew Talia needed her out, and that Talia's aging Romeo (who in all likelihood had met the Bard himself) wanted her our, but once "Time to Dance" blared its autotuned glory into the downstairs apartments, she knew it was time to go. She'd indulged in a bottle of wine and a bag of pita chips and slept til 1, then packed up her few remaining possessions.

Talia hugged, Boris loaded and out she'd gone, headed west on the 15. Headed back, headed h... She'd stopped to put the top down in Barstow, the surprisingly warm air drawing her back, enticing her to relax. She'd pulled her hairtie out and let her hair flip in the breeze like a shampoo commercial. It felt great for about 2 miles, before a grasshopper landed in her hair and she couldn't get it out because its jagged edge little leg had landed in one of the snarls being formed. Boris had lurched to a stop, wheezing near mile marker 90 as she'd thrown the little hitchhiker out of the car and dug a brush out of her (newly restocked) Zombie Apocalypse Survival Bag and yanked the snarls out until her hair smoothed itself back down. Then she whipped it into a braid and continued her drive.

At the city limits, she'd taken her hair back down and put the top back up. Despite Fanny's reassurances she'd be forgiven, the canvas top would provide cover if someone lobbed eggs or rotten tomatoes at her. It had escaped her notice that she was arriving back in the same outfit she'd left wearing. She slipped off the split red tank and pulled on a blue buttondown; the slight chill blowing in off the ocean made her add a knit cream sweater.

Arriving at the guesthouse, she'd seen the light on. The thought occurred to her that Fanny might have left it on for her, sort of a light in the window thing, but she dismissed it when she realized Fanny couldn't have expected her this soon... as if she were that convinced of her powers of persuasion. Could she?

Digging for the key that was on her Paradise postcard keychain, she'd unlocked the side door and pushed it open, reaching down to pick her bag back up before shouldering her way in. The sight that greeted her was... unexpected to say the least. A slightly built... robber was in the arms of a goth looking teenager in her living room. The black clad home invader turned at the sound of her bag hitting the floor, and she saw Sasha's face under the black cotton hood. Sasha... in her ho... house... with a boy. Was this a common occurrence? When had the crazy macing possum widow lady's house become the happening makeout spot? What else had been going on in her absence?

Her train of thought was derailed by Sasha completely forgetting the boy holding her and launching herself across the room. Momentarily stunned, she debated pulling Sasha off her, running back to her car and driving until she ran out of gas. She would set up wherever she landed; she could pull off a new identity. She watched cable.

But she couldn't do it. Her arms wrap themselves around Sasha without thought, and the odd little flutter that stirs in her heart as the young _prima donna_ snuggled closer was sort of moving. All she can think to say is, "Hey kid," like a character in some old movie. A quick glare and accompanying gesture sent Gothario out the double doors, but Sasha didn't seem to notice... or mind. "I'm so glad you're back." A little shiver rolled through her during the delivery, and Michelle realized it was a suppressed sob; her grip on Sasha tightened. "Can I crash here tonight?" It took 5 minutes for Michelle to agree and enlist Sasha to carry her bags inside. They'd changed into some of Michelle's pajamas, grabbed souvenir snacks out of the Zombie bag, and plopped on the couch to watch a movie.

The tough talking heroine had been avoiding the wisecracking hero for about 20 minutes when Sasha started edging towards Michelle's side. By the time the orchestral swell accompanied their first kiss, she was squarely on the middle cushion. When the movie suddenly paused, she'd gnawed her lower lip and worked up the courage to peer to her left. Michelle was watching her with a curious but amused expression. The single raised eyebrow dropped to meet its twin as the cocked head straightened in understanding. Sliding her feet off the couch and resting them on the coffee table, she settled into the cushioned corner and opened her arms. Sasha smiled a wobbly smile and curled up against Michelle's side. They cuddled that way until the credits rolled, and Michelle shifted a bit, working out sleeping arrangements until she noticed the soft steady breathing emanating from the girl beside her. She wiggled a bit more, figuring Sasha could curl up on the sofa while she slipped into bed; the pitiful whimper Sasha let out as she clutched her like a teddy bear stopped her.

Rolling her eyes at the ceiling, she reached behind her, located the throw on the back of the sofa, tucked it in around them and shut off the lights. Arranging one of the pillows a little better behind her head, she knew she'd be stiff in the morning, but it was worth it to see Sasha in a somewhat peaceful state. When the sunlight streaming through her perfect curtains woke her, the other dancer was gone, leaving no trace but a pile of folded pjs topped with a scrawled thank you note.

Her decision to gatecrash practice that afternoon had culminated in a group hug. The kids were happy she was back, her little foursome giddily so, but they realized she needed moral support since they're dancing to _Nutcracker Macer_. Boo approached apprehensively; the "you're dead" sign during rehearsal and the scowl Michelle had directed at her were enough to make her stop just shy of the group. The other kids part like the Red Sea as the former showgirl stalks toward her, Sasha at her crossed elbow. The facade cracked, giggles rang out, and Michelle pulled Boo into a hug, followed by Sasha who seemed to be squeezing them both with equal fervor, followed by the rest of the dancing collective until everyone was smushed together in a tangle of laughter and limbs.

As she soaked up the love of her reclaimed students, Michelle finally allowed herself to think how good it was to be home.

**Author's note: alright. Part 2. Hope you liked it. Even if you didn't... you know the drill. Do I leave it here or shall I continue?  
P.S. I actually looked for _Nutcracker Macer_ online; it's funny and awesomely bad but I would get it if I could.**


	3. Joint Custody

The past week had been interesting to say the least. Michelle now knew what joint custody felt like. The night after their couch session, Sasha had agreed to go "home", with the understanding that she could return if she needed to get away. Fights and rants and the occasional amateur cage match had sent Sasha back at least once a day, refreshments to the overnight bag that was living in the bathroom clutched in a white knuckled grip. Nights that occurred without an announcement of impending arrival still typically saw the young dancer feverishly practicing in the quiet studio until the older dancer found her, hugged her and took her home to the guesthouse.

Hugs and couch cuddles were frequent; playful arguments about teeth brushing and who got which side of the bed added to the domesticity. They played board games and popped popcorn and worked on choreography and watched cheesy broadcast entertainment and painted each other's toenails and had pillow fights; if it got Sasha to forget, Michelle was willing to try it. Though less a surrogate mom and more a crazy cool aunt/big sister, Michelle's combination of safety, affection, freedom and authority seemed to give both of them a good place to be.

Arriving home early from her date, she'd suspected Sasha might be attempting another Roman-tic encounter. The unlocked studio and the _click-click _of Blackberry buttons confirmed it. _I don't know if it's those multivitamins or just less hairspray fumes, but I am _definitely _getting smarter._

"We've gotta stop meeting like this." The young dancer swung to face her like a gunslinger facing a challenge. Ohhh, goody; sarcastic Sasha was in. "Or take it to the next step. Marry, have a couple of kids." Deciding to keep up the banter to keep down Sasha's guard, Michelle approached. "Who bears the children?" "We'll alternate." "Your hips, my boobs… that'll work. Plus it would be nice if we could share the stretchmarks."

Their discussion of Roman hadn't gone quite how either expected. Sasha was expecting a parental boy ban, and Michelle was expecting a Romeo and Juliet star-cross'd _Twilight _"we're young and in love" drama surge. The honest discussion that transpired was… open and real and… useful, almost the way they saw families talk on TV. It was conversation neither would have with actual relatives.

Watching Michelle offer her the Talk was kind of adorable, and even though she didn't need it (a drunken rant on the miseries of sexual interactions hurled at your head when you're seven tends to stick with a girl) she honestly would've enjoyed hearing the showgirl's experiences, her world wise take on things. If they hadn't been interrupted by the crunch of gravel outside, she might have gotten her wish. Figuring her text to "ABORT!" had gone unheeded, she was surprised when Michelle identified the visitor. She started towards the door, but a moment of hesitation hit her mid-stride, and her fingers twisted themselves together near her ribcage.

"What's up, buttercup?" Even in the dim studio, the worry in Sasha's eyes was clear. "Do… Do I have to go out there?" Her heart went out to the girl, and she longed to tell her no, that they could sneak out the back and into the guesthouse and just ignore the woman outside… Instead, she pressed a hand to Sasha's shoulder and gave it a squeeze before answering, "Well, you could try making a break for it, but it might be less hassle to just deal with it now. It might hurt a bit, but it'll be over faster than letting it build. Like popping a blister on your toe." The amused ewwww Sasha let out made them both feel better. She squared her shoulders and headed outside.

5 minutes later, Sasha watched her mother stalk off into the night like a pissed off panther, and stood hugging herself against the sudden chill. Silent inactivity ruled for a minute, then she turned to head back into the studio. Her head down, she only had time to note Michelle's black leather booties before she bumped into something warm and solid- a something that gently tipped her chin up, brushed away a tear she hadn't noticed falling, and wrapped her in a soft hug.

"Why doesn't she understand? Everything I know, everyone I lo- care about is… _here_" Sasha was ashamed by the emotion in her voice, the sad little quiver her mother had been able to pull out of her. The older dancer tucked the girl's head beneath her chin and pulled her closer, rubbing little circles between her shoulderblades to soothe and comfort. "She may not, but we do. Fanny and the girls and me. We'll figure it out… somehow."

Some of the tension holding the young ballerina taut exited in a puffed cheek sigh, and she hugged her mentor back. "What about tonight?" Michelle's cheeky reply actually prompted a giggle. "Well, that 'next step' idea had some merit, but I think Vegas is a little out of my range right now. Would you settle for a lumpy couch and mint chocolate chip ice cream?" Sasha pulled out of the hug, but stuck to Michelle's side as a small grin lit up her face. "Oh sweetie. You know just how to spoil me."

**Author's Note: this was run off in a hurry after tonight's episode. It just... lent itself to the story.  
You know the drill. Like it or not, tell me so.**


	4. Raindrops & Teardrops

It was trivia night at the bar. Things were getting depressing in Paradise. Michelle needed to hire some ex-Las Vegasians to shake the place up, maybe get Talia to send some of Retirement Rick's friends out to open Starbucks and a bowling alley and for the love of god a movie theatre without wheels. But she was only here because of the girls' prompting to renew her acquaintance with Godot. Sasha had seemed downright nice and hopeful while informing Michelle of his return. They'd fussed after practice over a perfect outfit, gesturing with celery sticks full of peanut butter at various options. Michelle was convinced she'd chosen correctly… but the looks on the toe-dancing trio's faces as she walked in made her self-esteem falter like a weak ankle _en pointe._

"Is that the dress you're wearing?" "Yes oddly enough the dress I'm wearing is the dress I'm wearing." Ginny and Melanie dissolved into a mutual fit of suppressed giggling, while Sasha filled the conversational gap. "I was only asking because that's not the dress you were trying on when I left this afternoon." "Plans change. Women change their minds, then they change their clothes." "Sweetie, I think you should've changed it back." Michelle seemed slightly wounded by the criticism, and felt the need to defend her frock de la nuit. "I'll have you know I have gotten mondo compliments on this dress, from many people. _Guy _people. And usually the best kind of compliment- the much coveted 'second look as I walk away'." Sasha tossed off an indulgent if slightly pitying smile, and rejoined, "Yeah... I don't think that look means what you think it means."

From there, the night had ended up a hodgepodge of the unexpected. She was an idiot. Godot wasn't. Charlie was apparently capable of normal human emotion beyond chronic horniness. Melanie apparently had a latent crazy streak. Frankie & Cosette knew everything, in addition to knowing everything and Truly's sister was a rich control freak… okay the last two weren't that surprising, but still it had been an eventful evening.

And of course it was raining. It was always raining during really dramatic moments in movies. It was either that or a 90 piece orchestra began playing grandiose themes, and that didn't fit the circumstances. But it was raining as Michelle picked her way through splashy gravel in her perhaps less than sensibly chosen shoes, huddled under a rose patterned umbrella she'd had the sense to stash in Boris' glove compartment 2 years ago. She was still across the drive, once again marveling that her home lights were burning, when she spotted the soggy solitary figure hunched on her bench. There weren't that many people that liked her, and even if she hadn't blown it like a Michael Bay finale, she was pretty sure Godot was more muscular and would be content to be drenched wearing less clothing while standing in the open air composing Master's level odes to oceanic charms.

That Sasha Torres was sitting on her porch in the rain was perhaps the least surprising thing that had happened all night.

Sasha's world was crumbling around her. She had 2 weeks until escrow closed on the house she'd lived in since she was 5. She didn't know what to do. She'd been expecting one or both of her parents to back down, to give in to her mulish tantrum, but they hadn't. Her mother calling her bluff had been an unanticipated move, the keys on her dresser a shock. Was she really expected to keep them all? Was this suddenly all her responsibility? She had a bank account, in her name, that her parents couldn't touch; it currently contained bribe money, birthday money, Christmas checks, and the cash she'd extorted from dancers at Joffrey for not stomping them completely into the boards. The tally had been running in her mind all day, like one of those old fashioned crank adding machines in an old movie spitting out a long white strip of assets. She didn't know how long it would last. Utilities and groceries and basic necessities and all those other "ies" came to mind and Sasha knew the pie wouldn't slice up for long. She'd have to drop out of ballet and get a job or find a sugar daddy to pay her bills (although she wasn't sure where she could find one or what she would do if she actually located one.) She couldn't leave her home. She **_wouldn't_** leave her home. No one could make her… but beyond retaining a stubborn tenacity generally found in small terriers and first graders, she was at a loss of what to do.

She sat on the porch bench looking like a lost little kid; not Sasha, not the tough mini adult she usually was, but the scared sad teenager she really was. It was unnerving. Michelle didn't know what else to do; she had really only come up with one surefire solution to a Sasha issue. So she hugged her. She put an arm around the girl and pulled her close and reminded her she had her back. She rocked her tenderly and stroked her wet hair and fought the emotional surge that made her want to weep.

They huddled together on the porch for a few minutes, Sasha crying with a gentle intensity that matched the falling raindrops, until Michelle's bare legs took on the mottled pink of chilled flesh. Not relinquishing her hold on the emotional teen, she suggesting moving things inside where warm pjs and cold ice cream awaited. "Can't we stay out here a little longer?" Sasha sniffled damply. Michelle suppressed a sigh and instead held up her leg for examination. "Well we could, but I don't really pull off splotchy pink." There was silence before Sasha replied, "Yeah _I _know that, but it didn't seem to stop you from wearing that dress." It took the older dancer a moment to realize the shivering _prima_ in her arms had cracked a joke; a small one with none of her usual caustic flair, but a small spark of the sarcastic Sasha had flashed and Michelle was grateful for the snap.

"Well excuse me, Joan Rivers. Next time I'll let the Paradise fashionista squad outfit me in something more suitable. How does that sound?" She'd punctuated the last statement by tickling Sasha, and the squirming ballerina was soon begging for mercy between breathless giggles. "Okay okay! I'm sorry! Uncle! Aunt! Second cousin twice remooooooved!" As she turned to capture Michelle, they'd lost their balance and toppled backwards onto the porch in a tangled heap. Giggling as they lay catching their breath, Michelle gasped out a promise. "No matter what happens, we'll figure it out together. Cross my heart; this is gonna stay your home."

**Author's Note: my apologies for the delay. Lack of time conspired with low motivation to keep me out of here. There is a next part almost ready to go; it just needs a bit of tweaking.  
Hope you like it. Even if you didn't, let me know. Reviews are appreciated.**


	5. Together At Last, Together Forever

When the morning dawned, Michelle called Jerry, the lawyer who had dropped the residue of Hubbell's life into her lap. They were going to petition for Michelle to be granted custody until Sasha's 18th birthday, with Fanny as a secondary _guardian ad litem_ appointee. An emergency hearing in Paradise Family Court was scheduled for the following Wednesday, and the weekend was spent in frantic preparation. Judge-friendly attire was selected, impassioned speeches were edited down, precedents were looked up, Boo promised to take the day off and Melanie practiced crying on cue.

And it all turned out to be unnecessary. Anastasia Torres had left something behind for her daughter besides an empty house and a loaded keyring. A letter faxed from her attorney's office surfaced during the recess Wednesday afternoon. It essentially stated that Sasha was on her own, that she was relinquishing parental control and giving Sasha the freedom to go from here. The soon to be ex Mrs. Torres' clinical seal of approval (and Mr. Torres' shaky scrawled consent) could be applied to adoption proceedings, a petition for emancipation, or an application for a marriage license. The Torreses were washing their hands of their daughter, leaving no strings behind them but a shared surname and a promissory note for 25% of the house sale, to be held in trust until Sasha came of age or became legally emancipated. The cheers that went up in the courtroom were deafening, and Fanny took everyone out to the Oyster Bar to celebrate.

3 weeks later, they attended Melanie's first derby match. Cleo-smacktra had taken the place of their beloved beanpole Bunhead, but a promise was a promise and they were out in force. Everyone except Ginny, who was also making her skating debut as Tinker-Hell, the Derby Dolls' new pivot in training. The original suggestion had been Blonde Bombshell, but everyone agreed the stature, figure and attitude justified the nickname. Fanny had been in a pronounced state of shock that 3 of her girls were involved in such a violent sport (Cozette's musical status had not differentiated from Ginny and Melanie's blocker status) but for tonight's outing she'd been given a mild tranquilizer, and was now happily munching nachos and waving a foam skate with her free hand.

Sasha had used face paint to decorate everyone in Derby Dolls regalia, and Boo had enlisted her brat battalion to make posters and signs. They seemed happy, just a group of normal people, friends with their friends watching friends beat the hell out of new friends. Fanny had the aisle seat, Michelle had wrangled a spot next to Sasha, who was bookended by Boo, who was squashed next to Carl (not that either of them minded), who was flanked by the brattalion with Charlie holding the line at the end and chatting nonchalantly with a girl in the next row. His broken heart seemed on the slow mend.

A few times, Michelle noted Sasha's smile growing a little tight when parents cheered on a daughter, and falter a bit when Boo and Carl played Crazy Parents (although Michelle had explained that wasn't what _in loco parentis _actually meant.) In those moments, she squeezed her hand or put an arm around her, and whenever they had cause to cheer, they stood together and bounced together with their arms wrapped around one another like sorority sisters.

A quiet moment between jams prompted Michelle to whisper into Sasha's ear, "How ya holding up, kid?" The ballerina's gaze dropped to her hands, nervously folding themselves in her lap until Boo reached over, took one and laced her fingers through Sasha's in a supportive squeeze. Michelle smiled at the girl's gesture and took the other hand in hers. Sasha produced a watery smile, and squeezed back before answering. "I think I'm gonna be okay. I thought I'd have to do this all on my own, that my family had left me… but they didn't. The people I've been existing around left; the people who gave me life finally gave me a life. A real life, with my real family." Here she looked over at the team bench where Ginny and Mel were fixing each other's laces, then up and down the aisle, and finally speared the women on either side in turn. "You guys. You guys are my family, and this place is my home because I have you." "You'll always have us, Sash," Boo replied softy.

Michelle stretched an arm around them both and pulled them into a Sasha-squishing embrace, before pulling a dazed Fanny from the other side, causing Boo to start a chain reaction hug on her side. "No family is perfect, kid, but we're as close as you're gonna get. And as long as we have each other, we're all gonna be okay." "Michelle?" Caught up in the moment, the dancer turned to face her mother in law. "You're crushing my nachos."

Five minutes later, beverages of varying alcoholic content had been passed around, along with restocked nachos and some foot-long churros to split. The next round was set to begin, and the teams took starting positions. Sasha took in the cheering crowd, the deliciously unhealthy snacks, and the warmth of the love surrounding her. _Sometimes it doesn't get any better than this,_ she thought contentedly… just before Ginny took a hard hip check and flew over the rail into her lap. Michelle and Boo tried valiantly to hold them but drinks, nachos and derby fans still flew as the girls flipped backwards into a dogpile. For a moment, silence rained. Then a muffled "ooph" emerged, followed by an "ow, get off my hair" and a "your skate's in my butt" and a "Get up!" "I'm trying but I think someone's sitting on me." The girls were still trying to untangle themselves when they heard a strange wheezing noise. Looking around for the source, they finally spotted Fanny, holding her sides and snorting into her nachos. The sight started Ginny giggling, then Boo piped up from her spot under Sasha's armpit, who was so tickled by the sensation and situation that she joined in. Michelle added a chortle that evolved into a full belly laugh, and the stunned spectators thought one or all of them might be suffering from a concussion.

When the heap finally got sorted and Ginny had been hoisted back onto the track, a happy band of rapidly bruising ballerinas limped over and rejoined their motley crew. And in their midst, two dancers- one old, one young- put their arms around one another and cheered. They cheered for their friends, for the mismatched but loving family around them, and for the home they'd found in each other.

**Author's Note: so that's the end; it seemed like a good place to stop. I hope you enjoyed it. Even if you didn't... you know the rest.  
If anything's missing or great or doesn't seem right, tell me. I love reviews and I'm always open to suggestions. **


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